Wherever You Are (11 page)

“Heaven,” he breathed and patted her knee. “You will be mine, Juliana. In time.”

As abruptly as he arrived, he turned and left.

Juliana blew out a breath and dropped her head against the rough wall. He was gone. Gone, gone, gone. Until the next time.

Her stomach cramped and she tightened her arms around herself. How much longer did she have to endure this torture? How long could he keep her in this hellhole before she either died or he dragged her out and did what they both knew he wanted to do to her?

Days? Weeks? Months?

Hours?

“Like hell,” she muttered into the darkness. No way. Not without a fight. Whatever cosmic force drove her to this despicable time she wasn’t putting up with it anymore.

She climbed down from the barrel, ignoring the protests of her roommates the rats, and the muscle cramps and torn skin, and began feeling the walls. When she worked for the Kansas City Star she’d gone to Leavenworth Prison and interviewed Raul Juan Pedro Pablo Lopez, convicted murderer. She’d been doing a piece on prison justice and Raul was the unspoken expert on contraband prison weapons. In the course of her interview, she learned that even toothbrushes could be sharpened to become knives. The inmates called them shanks and Raul made a lot of money creating and selling shanks to his fellow convicts.

At the time, it amazed her. Now it might save her life.

“Anything can be used as a weapon, Ms. MacKenzie,” the tiny Mexican told her. “Anything.”

“Well, Raul, I’m going to put your theory to the test.”

It took her a while but she finally found a piece of crumbling wall. She pulled and yanked and tore the skin on her good hand. She had to rest a couple of times, nearly out of breath and her heart pounding so hard it scared her, but finally a hunk of wood came free with a wooden nail attached.

“Some prisoners spend weeks sharpening their weapons,” Raul said.

She didn’t have weeks. She may not even have hours, but she would sharpen it. Because no way was she going down without a fight.

The metal band around the barrel was loose. She managed to find the end of it and bend it out. Working furtively, stopping occasionally to listen and catch her breath, she sharpened her improvised shank. With enough force, it could penetrate skin. No, it
would
penetrate skin. She would make sure of it.

Now, where to hide it? Using her new weapon, she hacked off a long piece of her shirt and loosely tied the sharpened nail to her good wrist. Barun injured her right hand so she would have to use her left, but she could do it. Right now she felt like she could do anything and for the first time had hope. She pulled the cuff of her shirt down over the weapon, sat back on the barrel and waited. She was out of breath, her pulse was in overdrive but she was pleased with her efforts and empowered by her resolve to fight back. Or go down fighting. Either way, she was ready.

“Thank you, Raul,” she whispered into the darkness, sure he’d heard her.

Because Raul died three weeks after their interview, killed by a shank he made and sold to another inmate for thirty-five dollars.

Morgan watched helplessly as a thick fog descended. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his face let alone a ship miles away. The anger he’d been living with for the last four days grew with each moment he was away from Juliana.

He couldn’t eat. Everything he put in his stomach came back up. He couldn’t sleep because when he closed his eyes he saw Juliana’s face, filled with the expectation that he would rescue her. Pictures of her broken body intruded on his thoughts, making him break into cold sweats. Would he find her alive when he reached the
Bhaya
? Was she, at this moment, being tortured? Raped?

Patrick appeared at his side, his footsteps muffled by the ever-increasing fog.

“Sorry, sir. There be nothin’ to see from the yardarm. We lost ’em, sir.”

Morgan nodded, having already figured that out. “Trim the sails, Patrick.”

As he walked away, defeat ate at his every step. Barun would continue to sail in this mess. Morgan would never find him and Juliana would be gone from him forever. If this were his own ship and his own men, he would keep sailing, full sail, through the soup, taking the chance they wouldn’t hit another ship or run up on the shore of an uncharted island.

But the
Adam
wasn’t his ship and this wasn’t his men’s fight.

He ran a weary, shaking hand through his hair and strained to see through the dense fog. The lap of the water on the hull and the clang of the rigging against the masts were muted. The animals in the hold below moved restlessly, as if sensing the mood of the crew.

He stopped searching for an ocean he knew was under his feet but couldn’t see and turned his back to walk away from the ship hiding on that ocean, lost to him.

Chapter Ten

The lock on her prison door jangled and light burst into the room. Juliana blinked into the brightness. Barun’s heavy cologne clogged her senses. She slid off the barrel onto shaking legs, mentally measuring the distance between herself and the door, the door and Barun, Barun and herself.

This was it. The moment she’d been waiting for. All the despair, the disbelief and the terror faded in the face of her resolve. She was either going to live or die in the next few moments. Her only fear now was that she had the physical strength in her weakened state to do what needed to be done.

He kept the door open.

“Ah,
sanam
.” He touched her cheek. There was a glow in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Determined not to be cowed, not to shudder at his gaze and not to whimper in fear, Juliana stared back. She was Juliana MacKenzie, former investigative reporter to the Kansas City Star. She’d interviewed hardened convicts, dope dealers and gang members. She could face Sanjit Barun.

“Tell me, beautiful lady, what is your relationship to Captain Morgan?”

She blinked, taken off guard. “I, um. I don’t understand.”

His smile flashed white. He could charm a snake out of its skin with that smile. “It is a simple question, my lady. What are your feelings for Captain Morgan? What are his feelings for you? Why does my brother feel you are something more?”

She tried to think what to say but she was lightheaded and her thoughts sluggish. “I was a stowaway. He didn’t even know I was there until the ship caught fire.”

Something flashed in Barun’s eyes. “You may have started out a stowaway, but it has become something more, yes?”

“No.” She shook her head and it made the room spin. She needed to act soon or she wouldn’t have any strength left.

“You are lying.” He stroked her cheeks with the back of his hand. “You could have much more with me,
sanam
. I could give you riches beyond your expectations, servants to wait on your every need. Power, my beauty. You will have power with me.” He ran a finger along the length of her hair. “Beautiful, Juliana.”

His thumb made lazy circles against her skin, causing her pulse to quicken in fear. He smiled, tracing the outline of her distorted lips with his finger and leaned toward her. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt for the nail tied to her wrist. His lips touched hers briefly. She schooled herself not to recoil in disgust.

His hand covered her breast.

She worked the nail out of its bindings.

Using both hands to grasp the sides of her head, he leaned in close. Determined to meet her death head-on, she forced herself to look at him.

Suddenly the ship shuddered. It listed to the side as if a giant hand were pushing it and the sound of groaning wood split the silence. Barun was thrown backward.

He grabbed her injured shoulder and yanked her off the floor. The pain made the room spin and her vision dim. She fought her body’s urge to lean against him. He dragged her to the door and poked his head out, looking both ways. The corridor was empty. Above them men yelled. Barun unwound a length of rope from his belt and tied her hands behind her.

“Do not try anything foolish,
sanam
.” He grabbed her elbow but her knees gave out and she began to sink to the ground. Barun half carried her to the steps.

Lightheaded, she stumbled up them. Her vision kept going out and her legs felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each. It took massive effort for her to raise one foot after another and when she stumbled, Barun dragged her. Not now. Do not pass out now.

A heavy fog had descended over the ship. The men running around looked like ghosts slipping through the veils of time. Features were indistinct but one voice that carried to her was not.

Barun cursed and tightened his hold on her arm. The cold blade of his dagger met the warm skin of her throat.

Morgan stood on the deck of the
Bhaya
with his cutlass raised.

After they’d trimmed the sails, he’d gone to his cabin to get drunk, convinced he’d lost Juliana for the second time in his life. But instead of drinking, he lay on his bed, breathing in her scent from the sheets, thinking of her until he fell asleep.

The only thing he could figure out was that the
Adam
and the
Bhaya
had run into crosscurrents in the fog. Then, perhaps by some divine intervention, the two ships broadsided. The crew of the
Adam
seized their chance and swarmed over the sides and onto the
Bhaya
.

Morgan searched through the mist, his mind muttering half-formed prayers he hadn’t thought of in years. Where the hell was Juliana?

Two shapes emerged from the fog, mere outlines until the haze parted. Juliana and Barun walked through. Morgan’s heart damn near stopped beating.

She was alive.

His relief was enormous until he saw Barun’s knife at her neck and the condition she was in. She’d lost weight. Her face was pale. Her eyes were unfocused, her lips cracked and bleeding. At best she was dehydrated. At worst… He shook with an intense rage. He gritted his teeth and swallowed a growl.

“You’ve made a grave error, Barun.” In taking Juliana and in hurting her.

“’Tis you who have made the error, Captain Morgan. You were given the task of returning my lance.” He made a show of looking around the deck. “I see no lance.”

“You and the lance can go to hell.” His hand tightened on the hilt of his cutlass and he tensed for the attack.

Behind her back, Juliana pulled on the wooden nail. When she practiced releasing it in the hold her hands hadn’t been tied behind her back and she hadn’t been close to passing out. She blinked several times to keep Morgan in focus. Her body was shaking and she’d broken out into a cold sweat.

Morgan took a step forward. Barun tightened his hold, nearly cutting off her air and making her dizzy. The nail was caught on the binding and she couldn’t find the end of the binding to begin unwinding it. She stopped, took a deep breath, wriggled her fingers and tried to focus.

“Release the woman, and I will go with you,” Morgan said.

“The slave returns to his master?”

Juliana jerked her head up and locked gazes with Morgan. His look was guarded, his body tense. He bent and placed his cutlass at his feet. “Let her go,” he said quietly. “Take me instead.”

No. Juliana’s heart stuttered. She worked furiously to release the binding. Finally it fell away and the nail dropped into her hand. Her fingers fumbled and she almost lost it.

“I will not let her go,” Barun said. “She is mine. But, never fear,
daasa
. I will accept your offer and take you as my slave.”

The knife at her throat nicked her. Blood trickled down her neck. She closed her eyes and went limp.

Unprepared for her weight, Barun loosened his hold. She twisted and buried the wooden nail into his thigh.

Barun’s knees buckled. Blood spurted from his thigh. He fell with a cry, pulling Juliana with him. Morgan scooped up his cutlass and lunged for Juliana.

Barun’s men surged forward. Morgan’s men surrounded him, meeting the challenge. Morgan raced to Juliana and hunched over her, protecting her, exposing his back. Thomas appeared and fought off his attackers while Morgan gathered Juliana in his arms and stood.

Spitting curses in Hindi, Barun rose, stumbled and clutched his bleeding leg. With cutlass in hand, pistols strapped across his chest and the blood of battle in his eyes, Patrick came up beside him.

“Find someone to take her to the ship,” Morgan shouted above the noise. He transferred Juliana’s limp body into Patrick’s arms. Patrick was about to turn when Morgan grabbed him. “If things go bad, take the
Adam
and sail for London. Find Lady Parker and hand Juliana into her care. If you have to, leave without me.”

Patrick nodded again and Morgan let him go, shutting his mind to Juliana to concentrate on what lay ahead.

Blood ran in rivulets and rivers over the deck of the
Bhaya
. The cries of the injured mixed with the blast of pistols. Burnt cordite hung in the air. Morgan spotted Barun a few paces away locking cutlasses with one of his men. All around him Barun’s men fell, but more took their place, a seemingly endless supply of fresh and rested fighters.

If Morgan could get close enough to kill Barun, the
Bhaya
crew might falter without a leader, but Barun’s crew guarded their captain with ferocity and Morgan couldn’t get close.

If he didn’t retreat, they’d be overrun, the
Adam
taken and Juliana in more danger than ever.

A thick sense of defeat lay heavy within him. It went against his every belief to admit the loss, but he had to think of the others and he had to think of Juliana’s safety.

He called the order to retreat. A cry of triumph rose from Barun’s men and they fought harder, intent on eliminating as many men as possible.

The crew of the
Adam
scrambled over the sides of the ship, pulling the dead, dying and wounded with them. Morgan continued to fight to give his men time to escape, but it was a losing battle in every sense of the word. The
Bhaya’s
crew kept coming and soon Morgan was surrounded. He tasted his fear, sharp and tangy. His heart raced at the thought of being taken away from Juliana, a prisoner once again. Barun pushed through his men, his gaze intent upon Morgan.